That Fateful Day
by lalaclayton
Summary: My take on how Jenny's arm got broken that day as a little girl. Slight mentions of abuse. Inspired by the film version of the story.


**AN: Hi Everyone! Yes, I know. A new story when my old one has been completely abandoned... (Please don't shoot me) I'm sorry. I've had a lot on, and it kinda went waaayy back to the depths of my mind, seemingly never to resurface. This, however, was the product of upcoming exams and a nagging plot bunny. Remember though kids, procrastination is bad. Anyway, enjoy - I've always loved the character of Jennifer Honey and her tragic backstory. (This story is based on the film version, as a heads-up.)**

 **Lala x**

"I broke your arm before, Jenny, and I can do it again!"

The Headmistress' thinly-veiled threat broke through the barriers of Jennifer Honey's mind. Very quickly, she reverted to the seven year-old child she had always tried to separate from herself.

That fateful day had begun just like any other. She had made the dinner, the downstairs had all been cleared, and she had around twenty minutes of peace while her Aunt Agatha ate before she got moaned at to do something else. Jenny had gone to her bedroom, with the intention to read another chapter of the latest book she had secretly borrowed from the library on her way home from school. Oh, how she loved the library! As she read, the story of the little girl running away from home slowly began to register in her mind, and a plan was rapidly formed.

Little Jennifer Honey was going to run away.

She packed the little belongings she could in her school bag, grabbed the apple she had stashed away under her bed, and sent one last, longing, glance at the stern looking portrait of a man which stood propped against the wall.

Jenny stole, quiet as a mouse, down the stairs, across the hall, and into the back passage. She crept even more slowly down the stairs, cluttered as they were with her cleaning products. Focused as she was on her own 'great escape', little Jenny failed to realise the silence coming from the dining room: There was no clink of cutlery; no little grunts coming from her aunt as she consumed her meal. All was quiet.

Once she got outside, Jenny broke into a run, heading towards her favourite field with the little, _almost_ fairy-tale cottage she liked to play in. _Almost_ , because Jenny didn't believe in fairy-tales anymore.

But maybe she should have, as a giant seemed to be chasing after her. A giant with an enormous roar, and loud, thumping steps. A giant who, the closer they approached, began to look more and more like Jenny's Aunt Agatha. It was then that Jenny realised she had left her glasses in her room, and she mentally kicked herself. Even if she could get away (and it was looking very unlikely), Jenny would only be able to see the first three feet in front of her face. She stopped running, took a deep breath, and, trembling, turned to face the beast.

* * *

"AFTER ALL I'VE DONE FOR YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BRAT."

Aunt Agatha, Jenny realised, was angrier than she'd ever been before.

She had finished screaming, and now it seemed that her aunt had formed an evil plan. Agatha grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back across the garden, and through the downstairs of the house. She didn't stop or even slow down as she charged up the stairs, bumping Jenny painfully on the way. Jenny hadn't made a sound: she had learnt many years ago that crying didn't help anything, and it quite frequently made things worse. As they reached the top of the house, Agatha pushed Jenny roughly into the tiny attic room. Even the small girl could have reached up and touched the ceiling, and Agatha would barely fit through the door.

It turns out, however, that she didn't need to. She simply locked the door, and walked away.

Jenny had nothing to do but cry. Aunt Agatha had taken her bag as soon as she'd caught up with her, and tipped all the contents into the mud. Her precious Lucy doll was outside in the cold, and all the pages of the library book were wet and crumpled. Jenny scooted back against the wall, and settled in for a long night.

* * *

It wasn't long, however, until Aunt Agatha returned. Jenny's ears pricked up at the heavy footfalls on the stairs, and the little girl tried to make herself as small as she could. Agatha Trunchbull, Olympian as she was, was incredibly strong. She was fierce, and she was determined. On the field, these were all important qualities. For little Jennifer Honey, however, they simply signified danger, and a lot of it.

The beast had returned, and it roared into the tiny space. It was relentless in its fury, and forced its way into the room. The small space seemed even smaller with the two of them, the girl and the beast, enclosed in it, and their proximity only heightened the fear felt by the small child. Oh, how she wished her father was still alive! He had always promised to protect her from the monsters under the bed and in her dreams, but now he couldn't do anything about the very _real_ monster in front of her.

Aunt Trunchbull had decided that instead of wasting her time locked in the attic, Jenny was going to have to pay for what she'd done. In the past, when Aunt Agatha had been angry, she had shouted, and thrown things; and although she had been scary, Jenny learnt how to say just the right things, or to duck at just the right moment. This time, though, she wasn't taking any chances. Agatha strode in, took Jenny's little wrist in one of her own huge ones, twisted it in just the right way until there was a loud _CRACK_.

The painful memory pulled Jenny back to the present: to her classroom; her aunt; and the class of terrified children behind her. She was determined never to be that terrified child again, and with as much malice as she could muster Miss Honey snatched her arm away, saying:

"I'm not seven-years-old anymore, Aunt Agatha."


End file.
